Chapter Text
“I am sorry lad; I just don’t have any rooms left for ya. You could sleep in the kitchen if you want. It’s not much but at least it’s warm in there,” said the elderly innkeeper with a sympathetic smile. Jaskier sagged in on himself as water dripped off him in what seemed to be infinite little ropes. He had been hoping for a warm, soft bed, a dry place in the seemingly unending spring storms. At least his horse was safely in the stables, getting pampered by the stable staff no doubt.
“That is fine,” he said through slightly chattering teeth.
“Go on, go sit by the fire then. I’ll bring you some stew,” the innkeeper said gently before her eyes shifted to look above Jaskier’s head. Jaskier turned around and felt like weeping with happiness.
“Eskel,” he breathed out, smiling at the gigantic witcher in front of him.
“You know each other?”
“Hmm,” Eskel hummed with a soft smile directed at Jaskier before looking at the innkeeper, “he can stay with me.”
The good woman smiled brightly.
“Thank you, master Witcher. I’ll bring up some extra fresh linens,” her tone turned suddenly stern as she addressed the shivering bard, “what are you waiting around for? Go warm up. I won’t be having you catching your death from the cold.”
Jaskier hurried to comply with the command, sitting at the table closest to the fireplace. Carefully he placed his lute close enough to the fire so it would dry, yet far enough so the heat wouldn’t damage the instrument.
Two pitchers of mead were placed on the table with loud thunks and soon the old bench groaned under the weight of a fully grown Witcher.
“What are you doing this far South? We agreed to meet in Wyzima in two weeks,” Eskel asked after taking a swig, watching with amusement how Jaskier’s already rosy cheeks turned crimson, and his eyes wouldn’t meet his.
“I… erm. I got lost?” Jaskier asked uncertainly, the lie clear as the spring water in the mountains. Eskel chuckled.
“I know you’ve been traveling across the continent for the majority of your life, you don’t get lost. Wanna try that again?”
Jaskier fumbled with the edge of his doublet, nibbling on his lip – both nervous ticks Eskel found adorable.
“Blast it all, I missed you, all right?” he exclaimed, finally meeting Eskel’s gaze head-on. The gaze that turned soft with fondness with just the tiniest hint of mirth.
“Jask,” he started but got interrupted by the bard.
“I know, I know, we’ve seen each other not that long ago. It’s just that when I’m not with any of you, the world seems incredibly dull.”
Eskel leaned his shoulder into the bard, ignoring that by doing so he was getting his sleeve wet.
“I missed you too, Dandelion.”
Jaskier smiled and leaned into Eskel’s solid warmth. They sat in silence – Jaskier too cold and tired and Eskel content with just the company.
“Oi, witcher! Come arm wrestle with us!” a young man yelled from a table full of the locals.
“Getting your arse handed to you yesterday wasn’t enough?” Eskel responded in kind with a wide grin, loud laughter from the patrons his only response.
“They seem to like you,” Jaskier said, not trying to hide the pleasant surprise from his voice.
“Yeah. A few years back I helped them with a Nekker infestation and ever since then I come here every year. They’re good folk, treat me like one of them.”
“Come on, witcher! Or are you afraid to lose?”
Before Eskel could yell something back, Jaskier patted his hand.
“Go have fun, dear. I’m sure we’ll have time to catch up later.”
Eskel shot him a grateful smile and, taking his mead with him, went to join the loud bunch.
Jaskier watched them for a while. There were no insults or fearful looks. There were jokes and laughter, friendly pats on the back. Jaskier wished this was how his witchers were treated everywhere. And sure – his songs helped. But he still wished he could do more.
“Here you go, dear. The bath is almost ready for you.”
“Bath?” Jaskier asked, blinking up at the innkeeper, immediately latching onto the bowl of steaming soup, willing his fingers to soak in the heat faster.
“Aye, the witcher ordered you one. No offense, but you look like you need it.”
Jaskier snorted inelegantly.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Pssh, Ma’am he says. Save that for someone else. Name’s Margaret.”
“Thank you, Margaret.”
“Good. Now eat. Before it gets cold,” Margaret said with a satisfied smile and rushed away to take care of her other patrons.
Jaskier ate, watching Eskel smile and laugh freely among the farmers as he beat them all one by one.
---
Jaskier dozed off. He didn’t intend to of course, but he was finally warm and had a full belly and as soon as his head rested against the wall, he couldn’t keep his eyes open.
He had no idea how long he was oblivious to the world around him before Eskel’s gentle hands roused him from his slumber.
“Come on. Bath and then off to bed with you.”
Jaskier nodded, reaching for his lute, only to find it already thrown over Eskel’s shoulder. With a grateful smile, Jaskier let himself be led to their room to the chorus of whooping and wolf-whistling from the locals.
“I apologise for them; they can be a rowdy bunch.”
Jaskier laughed softly as he entered the room.
“Darling, please. I can deal with some friendly teasing. Besides,” he started to undo his doublet, very aware of the witcher’s eyes that were following his every move, “it’s not like they’re completely wrong.”
“You looked ready to fall asleep on your feet just a few moments ago, and now you’re propositioning me?” Eskel asked with an amused chuckle as he placed the lute carefully on the table. Jaskier shrugged.
“I took a nap.”
“You slept five minutes.”
Jaskier huffed, untying his trousers. Eskel walked to the tub and, placing a hand on its side, cast a weak igni, heating it to the temperature Jaskier liked.
“You could always do the heavy work for me,” said the bard with a teasing smirk and an accompanying wink.
“Just get into the water, Jaskier,” Eskel sighed fondly, starting to pick up Jaskier’s discarded clothes, placing them over chairs and any other surface that could help them dry properly.
The splashing of water and a satisfied groan told Eskel that the bard finally listened. A glance in his direction showed him sinking in the water to his chin, eyes closed, lips curled in a tiny content smile.
Once all the clothes were hung, Eskel kneeled next to the tub, forearms leaning against the rim. Jaskier, still with his eyes closed, sighed heavily.
“I’m not leaving this tub. Ever.”
Eskel let his fingers breach the surface, creating non-sensical patterns.
“You will, once the water turns too cold.”
That finally got Jaskier to open his eyes, looking at Eskel with pleading eyes.
“You can heat it again with igni.”
“True. But you staying in the tub directly clashes with what I had planned for you.”
Jaskier raised an eyebrow, moving in the tub so he could directly look at the witcher, a spark of intrigue lighting up in his blue eyes.
“Oh? Care to share those plans with me?”
Before Eskel could respond, Jaskier kissed him. It was a deceptively soft kiss, hiding underneath was heat and lust. Two very wet arms snaked around Eskel’s neck as the bard pulled himself closer into the kiss.
“Remember what I promised you in Kaer Morhen, Dandelion?” Eskel murmured against Jaskier’s lips once they finally separated. He could hear Jaskier’s heart pick up speed, his cheeks turning pink and pupils dilating. So, he did remember. Good.
“Darling?”
Eskel hummed in question, pressing soft kisses along Jaskier’s jawline.
“Help me get out of this tub.”
---
Jaskier was floating. His mind was blank, blessedly silent, focused solely on the waves of pleasure that had Eskel’s mouth as their source.
Once I get you all to myself, I’m gonna eat you out until you can’t stand up.
And boy, did Eskel keep his promise to the letter. Jaskier wasn’t sure how long it was since the witcher laid him down, pressing him gently into the mattress before sinking his head between Jaskier’s thighs.
Deliriously, Jaskier wondered if it was possible to die from too much pleasure, the slightly hysterical giggle that left him at the thought turning into a moan as he was tipped over the edge once more by the witcher’s clever mouth. His fingers desperately curled into the bedsheets as his whole body tensed like a bowstring, ready to snap.
His legs trembled where they were resting over broad shoulders and suddenly, he realized how sensitive he was becoming. However, his efforts of shying away from that dexterous tongue were met with two hands tightening their hold on his stomach and a warning growl that sent another jolt of pleasure-pain up his spine.
“Eskel!” he gasped as the witcher worried lightly on his clit with teeth and, with a parting lick, finally released his hold on the bard.
Jaskier breathed heavily, his eyes closed in an attempt to regain composure. All it did was make him feel everything ten-fold. He could sense the bed shifting as Eskel moved up the bed, his hands moving along Jaskier’s torso.
“You alright, blossom?” the bastard didn’t even sound winded.
Jaskier hummed, reaching blindly for Eskel, who chuckled warmly before leaning in for a kiss.
“Fuck me,” Jaskier said softly, their lips brushing. Eskel huffed an amused breath of air.
“Don’t you need a break?”
Jaskier shrugged, turning his gaze at the witcher, who let out an involuntary growl at the lust-filled look in them.
“Maybe. But,” Jaskier took one of Eskel’s hands, leading it towards his wet entrance, hissing when they brushed against his heated flesh, “it would be a shame to let your hard work go to waste.”
Jaskier gasped, his hips bucking as Eskel pushed two fingers inside, the slide eased by his slickness. He thrust in experimentally a few times, his motions slow and measured, two golden eyes with pupils blown almost round watching the bard’s face carefully, searching for any signs of real discomfort.
Jaskier loved a lot of things about his wolves: their strength, courage, the way they helped people… he could write a whole book, maybe even several, waxing poetic about his witchers.
But one of the things he would never write down because nobody outside the four of them needed to know was that Eskel – sweet, attentive Eskel, who was at times almost too courteous towards his lovers, always afraid of taking too much – had a sadistic streak to him.
This was once again confirmed as he pulled out of Jaskier, dragging his fingers slowly and firmly against the bard’s inner walls.
A dangerous glint appeared in those amber eyes at Jaskier’s high-pitched whimper as the fingers finally left the heat of his body and Eskel started caressing the bard’s inner thigh soothingly, making him an even greater mess than he already was.
“Don’t want to hurt you,” the witcher said quietly, voice strained.
Jaskier shook his head slightly.
“You won’t. Not in the way I’m not asking you to.”
Jaskier was reminded of an eclipsed sun when he looked into Eskel’s eyes – two pools of darkness surrounded by a thin vibrant ring of amber. There was a poem in there somewhere, Jaskier was sure, but any thoughts of poetry flew out the window as Eskel settled between his legs, kissing him deeply.
The medallion was thrumming where it was resting against Jaskier’s chest, reacting to his not-so-human heritage, its wearer purring in contentment as he pushed in agonizingly slow, swallowing every gasped moan that spilled past Jaskier’s lips.
The pace Eskel set was the sweetest kind of torture, a slow drag of flesh against flesh, making Jaskier see stars each time he bottomed out. At one particular thrust the bard let out a pained whimper and both the thrusts and the kisses stopped abruptly.
“Too much?” Eskel asked, a worried frown creasing his brows, his arms shaking with the barely-there restraint.
“Yes, don’t you dare stop,” Jaskier gasped, his chest heaving. Eskel resumed his movements at an even slower pace than before, his eyes never leaving the bard’s face, chest expanding with a deep inhale from time to time, without a doubt checking Jaskier’s scent for any signs of actual distress.
Jaskier was a mess. He was trembling once more, hands clutching desperately at the witcher’s broad shoulders, soft gasps, whines, and moans escaping him without pause.
He wasn’t truly sure how much longer of this he could withstand every single nerve in his body seemingly on fire.
Finally, Eskel’s hips gave a slightly sharper thrust, his carefully constructed control over his movements crumbling.
“Fuck, petal, I won’t last,” he gasped, his forehead resting against Jaskier’s.
The bard let go of one of his shoulders, placing a trembling hand on Eskel’s scarred cheek, lightly brushing his thumb over its raised texture.
“It’s alright, wolf. Let go for me.”
Eskel let out a sound that was dangerously close to a sob as he buried his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck before going completely still. Jaskier was sure that if he hadn’t had several orgasms already that he would peak again from the feeling of getting filled.
Suddenly all the tension left Eskel and he collapsed on Jaskier, the action knocking a breathless laugh from the bard.
“You’re heavy,” Jaskier grouched with a smile. Eskel grumbled before pushing himself off the bed, pecking Jaskier’s cheek on the way.
Jaskier hissed as Eskel started cleaning him off with a damp cloth and the witcher smiled apologetically, his touch as gentle as possible yet trying to finish his task quickly.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I won’t be able to stand,” Jaskier said with a cheeky grin, giggling when Eskel smacked his outer thigh lightly with a crooked smile and sparkling eyes and, throwing the cloth somewhere in the general direction of the tub, laid down next to the bard, pulling him closer. They lay there for a while, the sounds of their breathing the only thing that broke the stillness of the silence. Then, Jaskier looked up at Eskel with a wide grin and a dangerous gleam to his eyes.
“So, when can you go again?”